


War is the Common Cry

by thinkatory



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU Season 6, Alternate Universe, Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Multi, Plotty, Tags May Change, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-24
Updated: 2011-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode 1 of 4 that will cover an AU take on Supernatural Season 6. Meet Gwen Campbell, Main Character, Lisa Braeden, Budding Badass, and Eve, the Big Bad to end all Big Bads. Celestial warfare is about to go down, and the Winchesters are gonna need all the help they can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War is the Common Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Because S6 SPN could have been great, I decided to write my own version. Title from Led Zeppelin's "The Battle of Evermore."

_I hear the horses' thunder down in the valley below,  
I'm waiting for the angels of Avalon, waiting for the eastern glow._  
\-- Led Zeppelin, "The Battle of Evermore"

_i. in the beginning._

Samuel Campbell wakes up on a cold basement floor.

He sits up – he's not gutted, that's new – and starts to wonder if this is Heaven. Or Hell. It doesn't look like either, but what does he know?

He's breathing, but maybe that's part of the illusion. He hates illusions. He pulls himself to his feet and tries to get used to pulling in air.

Back to brass tacks. Let's see. The last thing he remembers is watching that yellow-eyed bastard of a demon using his body like a fucking puppet to kill the Winchester kid and coerce his daughter into a crossroads deal.

It says a lot about the Campbell lifestyle that a night like that, followed by dying shortly thereafter, makes more sense than what's going on here.

His heart is beating. He's probably alive. How is he alive?

The lightbulb above his head explodes and there's a rush of wind, and he turns quickly to face a young blonde woman (serene, but her smile has an edge of warning to it) who's just sort of beam-me-down-Scotty'd into existence behind him. "Hello, Samuel," she says.

"How do you know -- " His instinct is to reach for something, but no knives, no guns, he doesn't have _anything_ on him. He's fucked. "What are you," he demands.

"My name is Rachel," she says, and he's blinded for an instant before dark wings fold out, rendering him speechless. "And you have been called by the future King of Heaven."

"Hilarious," Samuel says, eyes fixed on her face, waiting for her eyes to flicker black or red or even yellow. "Now tell me what you are."

"I am an angel of the Lord," she says, nonplussed.

"Listen, sister, you're pulling the wrong guy's leg here," he snaps, sharp.

She strides over to him, and stops his reaction of a punch cold with her open palm -- the impact is more like he's punched a wall. "Fuck," he curses, and she puts a hand on his shoulder.

There's a sudden yank, like he's been pulled from his feet, and he barely has time to recognize that he's standing on a suburban street now when the streetlight overhead flickers and blows. It's then that he sees another figure in the street.

"Sam Winchester," the thing called Rachel murmurs to him. "Named for his grandfather. He has been called as well, and you must lead him. Do you understand?"

"Not even a bit, sweetheart," Samuel says, but he's standing in the middle of a road with a creature unlike anything even he's ever heard of after having been disemboweled by his own, albeit demon-guided hands, so he's just going to sit back and soak it in until it starts making sense. "Am I dead?"

"No longer," Rachel says mildly. "You have work to do."

"Now you're speaking my language. What do you want me to kill?"

The angel smiles. "Go forth. We will answer when you call."

"Wait a minute," he starts, but she vanishes, and there's only one direction to go from here. He goes forward, to greet the kid and enlist him in the neverending war against the things that lurk in the dark, because with the mission comes answers, and those are in short supply today.

* * *

_ii. no place like home._

So Dean Winchester survived the apocalypse. He's as surprised as anyone.

He wants to hate Lisa for propping him up, feeding him, getting him over the counter sleep aids to try and knock him out even though he can barely manage to get four hours through the paranoia. He wants to keep Ben at a distance so he doesn't start hero-worshipping him; nothing good comes from hero worship, in his experience.

He wants to be dead.

It doesn't matter. No matter how much he broods or drinks or wakes up in with his heart in his throat from a nightmare at four in the morning, Lisa keeps making his favorite meals and doing his laundry, and Ben listens to his stupid jokes and patiently teaches him how to play Castlevania on the Wii.

Cicero, Indiana is the same old town as every other town he's seen criss-crossing the country in his way, but actually staying there is something new. He has a whole new view of thing (at least, when he's sober). The women are good-looking but frumpy, he's sorry to think, but they are. The guys are all decent dudes, not _really_ wimps, but Dean can't resist the thought that he could probably beat them all to a pulp if he had to because they're all so _soft_. Then that triples his paranoia because they'll probably all let their houses get overrun with all sorts of supernatural crap, and it's only a matter of time before whatever evil thing infesting the place realizes exactly who's hanging out next door.

They don't exactly know what to make of him either, and are paranoid in their way. Ben says there's a rumor that he's back from special ops in Afghanistan, or military contracting, or something. (Then Lisa's persuading a friend over the phone that Dean doesn't need a shrink "for his PTSD." Please. No one has a degree big enough to deal with his trauma.) He just grimly smiles when Karen, who lives across the street and has a Support Our Troops ribbon bumper sticker on her Ford, gives him an appraising look and an actual, warm "Hello!" when he takes out the trash that Wednesday.

Whatever. Hakuna matata. Things are cool.

It's an itch he can't scratch. Every break-in and death is a potential case, and he has to research. If he lets the supernatural fuckers run around rampant, then even more people will get hurt and the monsters will eventually recognize the name Winchester. They can come after him, fine; he can take care of himself. It's everyone else he's shit at taking care of.

The tenth time he stays up past 2 AM researching something that's probably nothing, Lisa comes downstairs, and he prepares himself for a fight with a thorough swig of beer. "I know," he says, before she can say a word. "Go to bed. I'm gettin' there."

"Dean. Relax." She sits behind him, on the settee, and he can feel her eyes on his back, on the screen. "You want to talk?"

"It's a hunch," he answers. "Probably nothing, but never a bad idea to check."

"Yeah, I get that." He hears her shift, the rustle of her clothes, and he's distracted for a second by the memory of the shift that she's in. "Look, we should talk."

"Yeah, can you kick me out tomorrow morning? I need breakfast," Dean deadpans before she can go on, another hunch about where this conversation is headed inclined to keep him from looking directly at Lisa and her inevitable perfectly honed "bitch please" face.

"Dean, cut the crap," she advises, and she leans over the settee to catch his attention, if only for a split second. "If you think we're in any kind of danger, I want to be ready. Okay?"

"I'm ready," he says, instantly on the defensive. Only one thing happens when Winchesters leave civilians alone: really horrible disembowel and leave 'em on your doorstep sort of murders. "You don't need to get involved."

"I am involved, idiot," Lisa says, not without fondness, and sighs; he glances back to see her rubbing her temples and wearing her _my boyfriend is a fucking moron_ face of frustration. Great. "So we go to Walmart, get a gun and a lockbox, head out to a shooting range. There's _nothing weird_ about that."

"Fine, I'll get silver to melt into bullets and we can start running around the country to keep Ben out of danger once the monsters realize I'm back on the roster. That's behind me," he snaps. "So – fucking drop it, Lisa."

"Yeah, if it's behind you, then why are you sitting at my computer looking up death certificates for animal attacks?" Lisa retorts, and gets up. He half-expects to get slapped, but instead she just stalks past him and up the stairs, which is almost worse. (Actually no, it's not.)

Dean sighs, closes the browser window, and clears the browsing history before he shuts the computer down. (The last thing he needs is for Ben to go digging around to see what he's been up to; he would've done that at Ben's age, if John had been the PC type.) Lisa is in bed, laying on her side, facing away from him, and he doesn't say a fucking word as he lays down and stares at the ceiling, wishing he'd finished his beer.

He's awake before the alarm, thinking, _what would John Winchester do?_ What would he say? Does it matter?

"You okay?" she murmurs, and her hand runs over the top of his, holding onto him like an  
anchor.

"Yeah," he says, rough, but honest.

Her mouth grazes his knuckles, and he exhales.

Today is just like any other day, except that something is off. His gut is screaming _be on your guard, Dean_ in a voice that sounds a lot like John's, and he can't even slightly relax until he cracks open a beer and realizes how crazy he's acting.

It isn't until he finds sulfur the next day that he lets himself look at the Impala.

"Hey, Dean!"

He's face-first in the trunk unpacking, so he decides to pretend like he doesn't care she's found him there. "Hey!"

"So I just ran into Sid," she says. He looks up at her from the trunk and damn she's hot today – no, Dean, focus. This is bad. "Did you almost shoot a Yorkie?"

He flashes his best sheepish grin. "Don't be fooled, those things are beasts."

She's not having it. "What's going on?"

He leaves the guns in the trunk and shuts it. "I, it's, you know, a spidey-sense." He gestures at his head. "I've got it under control."

"Uh-huh," she says, clearly not totally convinced. "Are you hunting something?"

"You know, I thought I was but now I'm pretty sure it's nothing," Dean lies fluently.

" _Really_ ," Lisa says, and it must have been a year by now because he can see the shades of concern and frustration in her face; normally he doesn't have the time to notice details like that. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," he says, fully aware of the armory in the trunk of his baby right now, and has a too-sharp image of Lisa accidentally blowing someone's head off with one of his sawed-offs because of his stupid paranoia. "But just in case – "

"Ben wants to go see a movie tonight," she interrupts him. "You do your… thing. We'll be back around 9:30."

"Cheesecake Factory?" he guesses. "Bring me back something."

"Will do," she promises, and hesitates before she moves toward him for a kiss. "See you."

"Later." He watches her go, and once she's gone, he closes the garage door. "Baby," he says to the Impala, "we're in trouble."

When he looks back to the fridge to grab a beer, Azazel is there, yellow-eyed and smirking in the last body he ever possessed. "You have no idea," he says, and grabs Dean by the throat, shoving him up against the garage door.

"You can't," Dean chokes out.

"Oh, I can, Dean-o," Azazel says, mock-reassuring. "What a great little life you've got here. Pretty girl, hell of a kid, and how do you keep your lawn so green?" Stars are starting to explode around Dean's vision. "Come on, Dean! You've never exactly been what I'd call brainy, but did you really think you were gonna get to keep all of this? You had to know that we were coming for you sometime, pal." His breath stinks, Dean registers, as his lungs are desperately scrabbling for air. "You can't outrun your past," the demon hisses, and his vision starts to go black.

Then something cuts through Azazel – he vanishes – pain streaks through his lungs as air seeps back into his mouth and nose, and Dean sees Sam, clear as day, _what the fuck_ and something is poking out of his chest.

He passes out.

* * *

_iii. time for me to fly._

"One more time," Dean says, squinting skeptically at Sam, Samuel, and the whole freaky Campbell clan who've come out of nowhere along with a bunch of djinn and the circus freak parade that is his past. "You're on a mission from God?"

"Cute," Gwen retorts, arms crossed over her chest.

"This thing says it's an angel, is unkillable by any means we've tried, and Sam here says it's probably 'legit'," Samuel says, with airquotes, "because you two've dealt with angels before."

"Fits with the lore, too," Mark adds.

"So we're working with Cas again? Great. Where is he?" Dean demands.

"Not Cas," Sam says, and the _nonchalance_ he's been wearing since the second he told Dean he was real, really back, and had been back for a _year_ is starting to get on Dean's nerves. "His right hand. Rachel."

Dean stares at his brother. "So you're just taking orders from angels now."

"Taking orders is a stretch," Gwen says dryly. "We just hunt like we always have. Now we have corporate sponsorship."

"Very NASCAR," Dean says, plainly unimpressed.

Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean. "I don't see the problem. You brought Cas into this with us last year – "

 _That._ It's Sam's _tone._ Sam's supposed to care how he sounds, what he's saying, but he just doesn't give a fuck anymore. Is that what Hell did to him? (This really isn't the point.) "I trust Cas. I don't know this Rachel chick. Why should we trust her?"

"A little help here, Rachel?" Gwen asks, squinting up at the ceiling.

Dean tries not to roll his eyes and pours himself a few fingers of whiskey just in time for the lights to flicker and a blonde to sweep into the room.

The first thing she says is "Hello, Dean," with that weird, detached angel smile, then she turns to Gwen and Samuel. "This was inconvenient, but I understand why you've called on me. He has a history of doubt."

Dean sets down his drink and clears his throat. "He's standing right here, Roma Downey, and he's proud of it."

"I know who you are," Rachel returns, and damn if this isn't taking him back to trying to prevent the apocalypse with the superpowered nerd angel that was Castiel. "And I welcome you back to our fight."

"Cas said there'd be anarchy in Heaven, and we're just supposed to trust that you're a white hat?" Dean points out. "You mind showing some credentials?"

Rachel stares at him like she can see right through him, like Cas did back in that barn when he and Bobby first summoned him, and Dean stares right back. There's nothing for her to read, nothing he's ready to give her. "I've proven where my loyalties lie in this war," she says finally. "Sam, Dean – follow the Campbells. Theirs is the path to victory."

"Dean," Sam tries. "Don't you want to help Cas?"

"Yeah, how does hunting help Cas? Unless we're hunting angels, but far as I can tell you guys are hunting the usual crap. A djinn? An angel should probably be able to take down a djinn with a freaking sneeze. You heard me," Dean says to Rachel, challenging. "What's the con?"

"Have faith," Rachel answers stiffly. "The plan is just."

"What plan?" Dean presses.

Gwen steps in. "We'll explain. You go back to your fight, we'll go back to ours."

Rachel remains unmoved. "In order for Heaven to be free and the Earth uncleansed by the Apocalypse, Castiel, our Lord and Master, must win the war. We need arms, and fuel. The monstrosities of Earth are our way to power."

"Right," Dean says, "I don't get it."

Samuel loses his patience. "They know things we don't. Now stop wasting the girl's time."

"Thank you, Samuel. I will tell Castiel you want to see him again," Rachel says, and vanishes.

"Thanks for that," Dean snaps at Samuel. "That really cleared things up."

"There's Heaven, there's Hell, and there's someplace else," Christian says from his spot in the corner.

"And if Cas gets there first, he wins the war," Sam finishes. "Get it now?"

Dean stares at Sam. "Tell me you're joking and we're not in a freaking arms race for, what, Purgatory?"

"By George, he's got it," Gwen says, with more than a little amusement.

"This is insane. We don't take orders from anyone," Dean protests. "Never have, never will – "

"You tell her no then," Samuel says dryly. "I'll take my chances."

Great, Dean's gone from Revelation to Pleasantville to Dr. Strangelove. Fuck his life.

"Fine," he says, though Sam will be able to see right through it, "whatever, let's kill these things. We got a plan?"

"Yeah," Samuel says, "we're going to kill 'em. Gwen?"

"Got it," Gwen says with a mock salute, and leaves the room.

 _Cas_ , Dean prays in his head, _we gotta talk, man. What's going on?_

As always, there's nothing, silence, and he gives up, goes to Sam, and starts to plan. Doubt isn't so bad. At least with doubt you always know what you're getting.

* * *

_iv. hit me with your best shot._

Sam Winchester is a scary son of a bitch. This is fact.

You'd think this would be enough to keep Gwen Campbell from following him to the outskirts of the compound, but then you obviously don't know her very well.

The freak's squirrelly today, and it's setting off all her alarm bells. She'd chalk it up to nerves about having his brother back in the game (hell, they're nervous too) but Sam hasn't been shaken by anything in the last year – anything at all, actually, which even by hunter standards is Not Normal. So when he ducks out when Dean's on the phone with the missus and junior (or something), someone's gotta see what he's up to, in case he's been secretly killing strippers or puppies (or both) and has feds on his tail. That'd be inconvenient.

For some reason she finds that funny. That would worry her if she didn't have bigger things to worry about.

Sam's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, and she watches from about a hundred feet back, through the brush, as he unpacks a bunch of shit and gets to work. It takes only a couple of seconds for her to put together what he's doing once he gets to it.

_He's setting traps._

It suddenly occurs to her that he might have been doing this while they all slept, and she could be one or two steps away from being strung up in that psycho's monstertrap just for following him.

Maybe she shouldn't've followed him.

What if Sam catches her?

 _Oh, fuck._ The idea of Sam cutting her to ribbons with that carefree little smile of his is not going away. Maybe she hasn't thought this through.

In for a penny, in for a pound, and other clichés, she figures, and hunkers down. The weather's okay, and for once she's alone and away from Christian, who's just kind of a douchebag, no matter how many excuses Arlene makes for him. Being alone is kind of cool, or it would be if she weren't an actual hunter and aware that there could be twenty kinds of monster headed in her direction right now.

Fuck this shit sometimes, man.

She tracks Sam through the forest, silent in her steps but still pretty damn sure he knows someone's there (because she'd jump to that conclusion, after all, and she's not a hyper-aware freakazoid like he is, either), and four traps later, he's done. He climbs back out to the trail on the sidestreet, hiking back up to the compound, and it's all Gwen can do not to stop him and ask him what the fuck is going on, because she's an idiot who's too curious for her own damn good. (Just ask her momma.)

A car's headlights flash in the distance and Sam looks back instantly; she has to dodge back a few steps, into the brush, but it's too late. She knows. He's seen her.

"Hey, Gwen," he calls, nonchalant as fuck. She doesn't answer, or move. "Catch up already, this is important!"

She recognizes a little of Samuel's voice echoing in Sam's there – _don't make me ask twice, sweetheart._ Despite herself, she emerges and strides up to him. "Checking the perimeter," she explains, without prompting.

"Yeah, me too," Sam lies fluently, amused at her lie, and she glowers at him. "How long've you been following me?"

"Long enough," she says. The black classic car is approaching their curve in the road now, and Sam pulls his gun and points it at the windshield, then fires it in the air. The driver swerves – _what the fuck is going on?_ Gwen has enough time to actually think – then when they get their bearings again, Sam seizes Gwen by the shoulders and shoves her right into the path of the car.

She's blinded like a deer for an instant and she turns, defends her ribs and shouts "YOU FUCKER" right before the car grazes her – her knee buckles, but the car swerves out of control and stops.

"What the fuck," a woman shouts in frustration from the car, and Sam's walking past Gwen to point his gun right in her face – but gets a shotgun in his own face.

The female voice is cool, but shaken. "Drop it."

Gwen looks up at Sam, who seems frozen, actually surprised for the first time since she's met him. Really? "Lisa?" he says, in utter amazement.

"I'm sorry, WHAT THE FUCK, Sam!" Gwen shouts at his back.

Sam ignores her. "How did you find us," he says flatly to the mystery woman.

"Hello, GPS?"

Gwen limps over to Sam and takes a swing at him, more than gratified when it connects and he reels a step. "Hey," he protests.

She has the sudden desire to punch him again. Maybe twice. "You _pushed me_ in _front_ of a _car_!"

"She wasn't going to hit you," Sam points out, with idiotic reasonableness.

The woman – Lisa? wait, this is almost making sense, isn't that Dean's girlfriend? – is staring at Sam like he's a ghoul. "He's supposed to be dead," she says to Gwen slowly.

"Yeah, well, he's not," Gwen says without a hint of irony, and pulls out her gun and points it at Lisa. "You're driving us to the compound."

Sam pulls a silver knife from his pocket. "No, you're not," he says bluntly.

"Woah, take it down a notch, psycho," Gwen cuts in.

"Says the girl with the gun," Lisa mutters.

Gwen's losing her temper. "Hey genius," she barks at the chick. "You could be possessed. I'm driving. Get in the backseat. You too, Sam!"

"No," Sam says, immediately defensive. "I am not sitting in the backseat."

"Oh, shut up and get in," Gwen retorts.

" _I'm_ driving. It's _my_ brother's car. Can you even drive stick?"

"Would you both shut up?" Lisa exclaims, gets out of the car, and gets in the backseat. "Someone drive! And if someone could tell me if Dean is freaking alive out there, that'd be AWESOME!"

Gwen and Sam exchange a look, then Sam gets in the driver's seat and hands the silver knife off to Gwen once she's in the backseat. "Ready?" she asks Lisa, once Sam's started the car.

"Uh," Lisa starts, then shrugs. "Yeah."

Like the freak he is, Sam starts laughing when Lisa audibly winces at a cut from the silver knife. "Shut up," Gwen advises him, and pulls out a flask of salted holy water to hand off to Lisa. "Your boyfriend's alive. How the hell did you find us?"

Lisa drinks from the flask and coughs at the taste, but doesn't start vomiting up a demon, so that's a good sign. "GPS," she repeats patiently. "He vanished. I wasn't about to let him get away with that."

"Oh, he so doesn't deserve you," Gwen cracks.

"Don't become friends. Dean'll freak out," Sam says wryly.

"Yeah," Lisa agrees, then fluently goes on to Gwen, "Let's become friends."

Gwen sticks out her hand. "Gwen Campbell."

"Lisa Braeden."

Oh, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Appletinis and Versace bags all around or whatever it is that girls are supposed to spend their time obsessing over. They actually mostly talk about hunting and the compound – Gwen being as subtle and vague as she can in case Lisa turns out to be some sort of shapeshifting freak they've never met or something – while Sam sits in quiet judgment in the front seat, like what Gwen is doing is wrong.

Whatever. There's another chick around, and Gwen likes her. No harm in being decent to someone, right?

"What the hell, Sam?" is the first thing out of Dean's mouth when they come through the gates, and he pounds the hood of the car out of some manly pushiness. Then he sees Lisa in the backseat and freezes.

Lisa just goes red and waves, and that's when Sam turns off the car.

"Let's get out of here," he suggests to Gwen, and climbs out of the car.

Dean and Lisa try to keep it down but it's exactly what you'd expect from the sound of it – _what are you doing here_ and _did you expect me to just let them kidnap you_ and _it's not safe, what about Ben._

"Jesus, just when I think it might be nice to get laid," Johnny says flippantly, and Christian laughs.

"Shut up," Gwen advises instantly.

"Oh look, she has a gal pal," Mark deadpans.

Gwen rolls her eyes. "Yeah, that's right."

"YOU EXPECT ME TO WHAT, JUST – SIT THERE AND WAIT FOR YOU?" Lisa shouts at Dean, and Gwen twirls the knife between her fingers, lost in thought about a life like that, _defended_.

It's fucked up, is what it is.

Once everyone's split up to their tasks – there's djinn to hunt – Gwen finds her first gun in her artillery pack, loads it, and finds some beer cans.

She's injured, so they leave her behind for the hunt. _Good_. Lisa is lurking in the living room, where an old TV is almost never fucking used, until Gwen clicks on the safety of the gun and drops it next to her.

"C'mon," she says. "School's in session."

* * *

_v. three wishes_

It's not really a surprise or anything, but obviously Dean's not cut out for relationships. It feels like there's a choke-collar around his neck and Lisa's got a hold of his leash all the way back at the compound. The ride back home is like friggin' eternity, and he's dreading the hunt, for once, so rusty that he doesn't know if he can even trust his instincts anymore.

It's only been one year, he tries to remind himself, but one year of golf and darts like some chump might be enough to make him lose his edge.

Then he realizes how stupid the Campbells are and remembers what a goddamn good hunter he is. "Everybody's got to clear out," he tells them. "They're not gonna come in here until me and Sam are alone."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm gonna leave you here with no backup," Samuel says skeptically.

"Dean's right," Sam interjects. "They're smart. They'd wait till they weren't outnumbered."

Samuel exchanges a look with Christian, then nods. "All right, we won't be far. You call when they come, you hear? ... Pack up," he adds to Johnny. "We're out of here."

Dean glances at Sam once the Campbells are out the door and says, "So, uh."

Sam gives him this look that's half-hope he won't say what he's gonna say, half- _shut up, Dean_ which is weird, because that's _Dean's_ look to throw at Sam when he gets all Oprah on him. "Yeah?"

Dean gives up on being cool about it, because there's no good way to fucking pull it off. "You okay?"

Sam looks down at himself then back up at Dean. "So far," he hazards.

"I mean... the cage. Hell. You know, saving the world, stuck in the Pit with an archangel for your trouble, that whole thing," Dean snarks, unable to help it. Is Sam trying to be annoying? If he is, it's working.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam says bluntly.

Dean gives up on that tack, then. "If anyone can relate – "

"No." Sam pauses a beat as Dean just stares at him, then goes on. "Dean. I'm back, okay? I get to breathe fresh air, have a beer, hunt with my family – see you again. So why exactly would I want to think about Hell?"

Dean looks out the window, at Sid and Caroline's, instead of looking at Sam, because he still can't help but see him as little Sammy, no matter how tall and badass he gets. "And you think you can – "

That's when he sees the djinn grab Sid by the throat and dose him up with venom.

"Fuck," he swears, grabs his pack, and digs the syringes out of there before he jumps the fence.

"DEAN," Sam calls after him, and follows. "They're already dead – "

"Oh, shut up," Dean retorts, and bursts through the sliding doors. "HEY, SID."

Caroline's already dead – so's Sid – no djinn so far – he straightens, then someone's got his fucking arms behind his back and a hot-looking djinn (shut up, he has priorities) struts over to him like she's got something to prove.

"You made it through that last trip," she croons as she puts her hand around his neck, "so how about a big, fat _double dose_?" The marks rush up her arm, and it's already kicking in; his vision's going blurry around the edges. _Son of a bitch._ "Bad news -- it'll kill you. The good news? At least you'll go fast."

He pitches forward, nauseous like the worst hangover he's ever experienced, and she says, all self-satisfaction, "That's for our father, you son of a bitch."

He's sick and paranoid like before, his vision horrifyingly clear, like everything else was a goddamn lie. Lisa is there, and she's cocking a shotgun at Yellow-Eyes, who's just snickering like he's won the friggin' jackpot even after she fires into his chest once and again. "Die, you son of a bitch," she snaps.

"Lisa, no," Dean shouts, but she's not listening, or she can't hear, or maybe she doesn't want to hear.

"Oh, I love a girl with _spirit_ ," Azazel says, all smirks and charm, and slams Lisa against the wall with a gesture.

"No!" Ben shouts from the doorway, and clumsily aims his own gun –

"NO," Dean bellows, tries to move to get between Ben and Azazel, but he's frozen in place, useless, while Lisa shouts, "No, honey, run! ...DEAN, DO SOMETHING!"

"Stop your squealing, sweetheart, I'm gonna show your son a real good time," Azazel says sleekly, and drags her up the wall to the ceiling (Dean wants to scream, to tear her down, to tear this whole nightmare apart just then because he knows what's next – )

"No, no!" Lisa sobs as her stomach is cut open, and Ben is staring up at Azazel like he's waiting for a command, or –

Azazel's got a cut on his wrist. "YOU GET AWAY FROM HIM," Dean yells, or tries to, but nothing comes out, and Ben just nods as Azazel murmurs to him like the Devil him-fucking-self and puts his wrist to the kid's mouth.

 _Nononononono_ \--

The ceiling bursts into flame, and he descends into terror and oblivion before pain breaks through it all and he sees Sam, just like the last time, before passing out into a bloody, drooling mess.

* * *

_vi. gimme shelter._

Lisa is exhausted in so many ways, and none of them are good.

Sometimes, she wants to dump Dean so hard and fast he won't have time to make her feel guilty just by looking lonely and playing tough. It's usually at times like this – not exactly like this, obviously, since this is a first for her (genies, really?), more like any time he's pushed her away or passed out drunk on her – because she's not supposed to care this much or hurt this much. It aches almost physically, makes her want to curl up on the couch with her sister and watch Hugh Grant movies like some sort of wuss.

She's never really felt that kind of pain before. Not this intensely, not this often. Maybe it makes her a slut or something, but she's never cared about just about any guy she's dated _this much_ , at least not since she was like sixteen (and that doesn't count).

She's by his bedside like some kind of chump as he recovers from the djinn attack at the compound, and for the first time in a long time, she's praying – she's praying that Dean will be okay. Praying to what, it doesn't really matter, whatever or whoever will let him wake up.

Even though Samuel promised her he'd be okay, Lisa can't help thinking she'd do a lot of things to not have her last conversation with Dean be _that fight_.

She has a gun. Thanks to Gwen, she has a gun and she knows how to use it, because she's a stubborn bitch and she worries, almost constantly, whether or not she ever chooses to acknowledge it. And because she's worrying, even now, it's in her lap, like someone's going to come up the stairs and try to kill Dean while he's out.

Christ, she's getting as paranoid as him. But how else are you supposed to react when the world is actually, really out to get you in a serious way?

"Woah," Ben says from the doorway.

Lisa turns to see him staring at the gun in her hands, and sets it aside in a hurry. "Hey – all settled in?"

He's still eyeing the gun. "Not as much as you, I guess."

"Ben," she chides, but she feels guilty for just a second before she remembers why. "I'm not gonna apologize for protecting my boys."

He's still put off, but at least he comes into the room a few steps. "Yeah, I guess – wait, you're protecting Dean?"

"Well." Lisa gestures at Dean. "Someone has to."

"Everyone down there has guns," Ben points out.

"It's okay," she tries. "I promise. I think they're watching a samurai movie downstairs, I'll be down in a while."

He hesitates. "Once Dean wakes up?"

She nods. "Go ahead."

He doesn't move. "Is he going to die or something?" he asks.

"What? No," Lisa says instantly, gentle and careful. "No, he's just sleeping it off."

"Like a hangover?"

God, how does he even know that, at his age? TV? Dean? "Sort of. Except... evil monster-induced, and not fun."

Ben eyes her. "You said drinking isn't fun."

"Oh, and it isn't," Lisa says seriously. "I make the best of it."

Dean makes a sound and shifts in the bed, and she jumps, not ready for that. "Hey," she greets him, and strokes his hair like he's sick or something.

He stares first at her, then steals a look at the gun. "Uh, hey."

"You got your ass kicked, didn't you?" Ben asks, obviously trying to lighten the mood. Good kid.

"You're hilarious," Dean informs him dryly.

Ben grins at that. "They're watching _The Seven Samurai_ down there. I don't wanna miss it. You're not gonna die, right?" he asks Dean.

"Don't count on it," Dean answers, and stretches out with a grunt as Ben leaves. "You stayed," he says to Lisa.

 _Why are you surprised?_ "Yeah," she says, because it's freaking self-evident, and why wouldn't she? "You okay?"

"Me? I'm peachy."

"Cut the crap." There's that feeling in the pit of her stomach again. She fights the sudden desire to crawl into the bed with him, to make him feel better (not like _that_ , well, not necessarily). "You look like hell and I'm not an idiot. I know you."

"Yeah?" He's looking past her, at the gun on the bedside table. "If you know me, why the hell do you want to be like me?"

He's talking. This is rare enough that she can't really waste the opportunity. "This isn't about you. It's about me, and Ben, being safe – "

"I get it. You're protecting Ben," Dean says, and closes his eyes, obviously frustrated and still half-awake.

"We're protecting ourselves," Lisa retorts. "We – we have you, in our house, in our lives, and you have danger following you like a fucking stalker, so just... let us learn. Do our part. We're gonna become hunters, or the hunted. I know you don't want that."

"It's the same thing," he says after a moment. "Hunter. Hunted. There's like fifteen of us left now, tops. You are NOT going on that list if I have anything to say about it."

"Dean," she tries, moves to sit on the bed, and puts her hand over his. "We're on that list. We knew this was going to happen. I know how to handle a gun now, we can work on this – "

"No." Seriously, she's upsetting him. This is bizarre. "We're moving. We're getting the hell out of this game and never looking back. I can't..."

"Words," she suggests. "Tell me what's going on."

"I fucked up massively back there, Lise. I have to get out or I'm gonna get us all killed."

He's exhausted, she can see it in his face, and he wouldn't be saying a word otherwise. "Shut up," she advises, and gives in, crawling into bed with him. "And relax. You won."

All this talking and they're not saying the most important parts, but it doesn't matter. She gets it. _I'm sorry_ , she's saying, _but I had to_ and he's forgiving her. When he kisses her there's a desperation in it that she can't help but feel echoed in the pit of her stomach again, the need for him to be okay, to be theirs, and they settle in together, fully-clothed but more intimate than they've been in a damn long time.

She can feel the _thank you_ in the way he pulls her closer, and they doze comfortably for fifteen whole minutes without interruption. Finally, Gwen pokes her head in the door and says with no preface, "You're gonna want to come downstairs, lovebirds. Sammy's got a surprise."

"Right," Dean grunts, and pulls himself up and out of bed, past Lisa, with a glare reserved especially for Gwen and her gun.

"Oh, yeah. You'll wanna bring that, too." Gwen nods at the gun. It's like she can read their minds. Lisa tries not to make a face at Dean's reaction, but it isn't easy.

"Great," Dean mutters, and pulls on his shoes; she follows him as he hurries down the stairs, and stops dead as he looks in the front room where _The Seven Samurai_ is still on the TV. Lisa reaches his side, and the look on Sam's face... it stops her too. "What is it, Sammy?"

"Something's been hunting us since the djinn showed up," Sam says bluntly. "So I put down traps. And I caught it."

"And you didn't mention this – whatever." Dean shakes it off. "What is it?"

"No idea." Sam gestures with his head for Dean to follow, and even though he tries to leave Lisa behind, she follows.

"Lise – " Dean starts.

"Shh," Sam advises, and opens the door. He cocks his gun that instant and Lisa hands Dean the gun whether he likes it or not.

"Go back inside," Dean hisses at her.

"I – fine," she says, retreats, not without a look that tells him just how screwed he'll be if he pulls this on her again. "Be careful."

He's putting in a major effort to not roll his eyes, so she lets it go, because at least he's trying not to be a douchebag. "What's going on?" Ben asks her once she's back in the TV room.

"Watch the movie," she tells him, and sits beside him, gets close, in case everything's about to go to hell – maybe literally, knowing the Winchesters.

They show up – _finally_ – and Samuel is first at the door, Lisa and Ben hovering and watching as Dean and Sam lead in, at gunpoint, a greying man in his fifties and a young blonde woman in her mid-thirties.

Samuel is still and pale and now Lisa's concerned. " _Mary_?"

"Shut up," Dean says levelly. "CAS! GET YOUR FEATHERY ASS DOWN HERE."

"Dean," Sam tries.

"Who's that?" Ben whispers to Lisa.

She's starting to wonder if maybe Dean was right and she shouldn't be here, and Ben sure as hell shouldn't be, right? "I don't know, baby," she murmurs back. "But shh for now – "

"Let me explain," the man starts, and cringes, hisses when Dean lashes out at him with a silver knife. "Dean! LISTEN TO ME."

"You are not my dad so fuck you," Dean says heatedly. "What are you? How did you – "

"Dean, honey," the woman – Mary? – cuts in. "Sam. Please. We'll explain everything."

Lisa's hands fly to her mouth. _John. Mary._ Oh my god, it's his parents.

A handsome man in a trenchcoat appears next to Dean and informs him, "My ass is not feathery."

Ben is glued to the scene. "What the hell is going on?"

"I have no idea," Lisa confesses.

Samuel makes an executive decision then. "Panic room. Now," he barks, and the Winchester boys lead their parents – their parents' doppelgangers? – into the basement.

So much for rest. So much for getting out of the game. Looks like someone's playing some serious chess with their asses.

Lisa's out of ideas. "I'm getting us some soda," she says to Ben, "and don't argue with me, we're not going down there until someone tells me that those people aren't monsters hell-bent on eating us all."

"Fine," Ben says, and makes a face. It takes everything in her to go get some caffeine and not just collapse into the couch and sleep this entire 36 hours off.

Her life is insane, but would she have it any other way?

* * *

_vii. telephone._

Dean is just about over the dead people showing up out of nowhere just to screw with him thing.

"All right, mind explaining this to me, Cas? Or any of it?" he demands once they've got the "Winchesters" locked firmly in the panic room. "This whole – stupid lieutenant thing you have going, since when have you been too cool for us anyway?"

"Dean," Sam interrupts, "priorities, okay?"

Right. "Did you do that?" He points at the panic room indignantly. "What did you do?"

"That is NOT my doing, Dean," Castiel says pointedly, "and you might think to speak to me with – _respect_ – "

"Yeah, because that's totally my friggin' MO," Dean says, scathing.

"Dean!" Sam points at the panic room. "We have an angel. Maybe he knows something?"

"Yes. Just an angel," Castiel says sharply. "My time is not remotely valuable."

"Samuel wants to know what's up," Gwen calls down the stairs.

Dean looks at Sam, who _isn't_ giving him the "just ask nice for once" look, which is weird, and turns to Castiel. "Please," he says. "And tell me what the hell is going on when you're done."

Sam pulls his silver knife and starts to open the door, prepared for "John" to pull the usual Winchester escape plan, but they're both gathered in the corner of the panic room, talking in hushed tones, which is almost weirder. Dean stares at "Mary," clothed in a white dress like that nightgown she was wearing on the night she died, and says without looking at Cas, "Just do something already."

Castiel nods stiffly – Dean didn't realize how much he missed Cas until just now – and enters the panic room. "What are you?" he asks them.

"John and Mary" go silent at that. "John and Mary Winchester," the impostor John says.

"Bullshit," Dean says bluntly from his station at the door.

"Our dad is dead. So's our mom. You know that," Sam says, cutting to the point. "So what are you?"

John looks lost, and Mary puts a hand on his arm to stop him talking. "Sammy – let your dad explain."

"We were dead and now we're not. We've been sent," John says curtly, before one of the boys can cut him off. "As a message. To deliver a message."

Dean wants to beat the hell out of the thing masquerading as his dad. So badly. "What message?"

"I know what they are," Castiel interrupts him. "If that question is still relevant to your interests."

"What?" Sam asks, before Dean can get a word out edgewise.

Castiel nods to John. "He's a vampire. She's a shapeshifter."

"But – " Dean's head is spinning. "That's impossible."

"We burned your body," Sam points out to John.

"Good," John says, with a faint, proud smile. "But that ain't gonna stop her from raising us."

"All right, stop jerking us around and just tell us straight," Dean snaps.

"Hello, Castiel."

Dean flinches and looks in the direction of the new – but very old – voice that just spoke. "What the crap," he demands of the world in general.

Anna is standing there, smiling grimly, the same expression that John and Mary wear. "I have a message for you."

"Okay, WHAT IS GOING ON," Dean shouts at all the dead people in the room.

"It's nearly time, Dean," Mary says gently. "But I promise you. It's us."

"Oh well, if you promise – "

He gets the last syllable out before there's an instant where the world goes completely what-the-fuck-shaped – like a switch was flipped and white is black and black is white – and then a voice, sticky sweet but sharp like the scraping against ice, comes out of John and Mary, their mouths tracing the same words.

"Hello, Winchesters."

"Castiel," Anna says in the same voice.

"What the fuck!" Dean yells in frustration.

" _I am talking_ ," the voice snaps at him. "And I am so much more than you, you insect – you angels, Castiel, Raphael, you little demon."

"Demon?" Sam whispers, confused.

"You have tread on the edges of my domain for too long. Purgatory is beyond your reach – Purgatory is mine, and I am older and truer than any of you puny mortal things can dream of. _They call me Eve_."

" _Eve_ ," Anna shouts. "They call me Eve!"

John speaks next, scathing. "And _Winchesters_ , Campbells – "

Mary goes on. "I can bring you what you most desire – "

"Or what you most fear," Anna cuts in, with a smirk.

"I know where you are," Mary says, wearing a tiny smile which fades as she goes on. "Who you are. What you are. And what you seek. It stops now!"

" _It stops now_ ," Anna and John hiss in unison.

"Or my children will slaughter every last one of the pests crawling across your domain," Mary says, and laughs, a horrible sound. "And I will make your pretty little world my kingdom."

Dean wants to look at Sam, to make a crack, but this is too much, too far, and they are in it up to their fucking ears now, from the sound of it.

_Fuck._

"You have broken the world too many times to count," Anna says, her tone coldly triumphant. "So it ends now. Touch another of my children, and I will make war across the spheres in ways that you couldn't POSSIBLY imagine."

"It ends now," John says, in a tone that makes Dean flinch.

Then the three collapse to the floor and the room goes deadly silent.

Castiel stares down at Anna, crumpled in a heap on the floor now that the celestial hand isn't stuck up her puppety ass, and Dean finally breaks the silence. "So, uh. Any idea what that was about, Cas?"

"I have to go," he says tersely.

"No," Sam says, surprising even Dean. "You're not going until you explain what the hell that Eve was talking about."

"She talked about Purgatory. Rachel says you're going after Purgatory."

Castiel can't look him in the face, and Dean just _knows_. He knows more than he's saying. Maybe he knows all of it. That fucker.

"Go," Dean says, darkly. "Run, like always."

Castiel vanishes, and Dean stalks out of the panic room, shutting the door and locking it once Sam's out of there. "We have to tell the Campbells," is all he says, all he can say, and heads up the stairs.

* * *

"It ends now," Lilith says to Crowley, where she stands in his doorway, gorgeous and blonde like the day she died for Lucifer.

He just stares at her – thinks of nights fucking her, nights fucking her over, and levels the Colt at her face.

"I'm done taking orders from you, love," he says sleekly. " _Do your worst_."

He shoots her right between the eyes.


End file.
